The Taming
by Viktoria7
Summary: While on his rounds in Nottingham, Guy discovers a girl from another land. Her defiance fascinates him, but will it also be her downfall? Or will these two dispossessed souls find solace in each other? Takes place sometime during season 2. Story alludes to events from the show but mostly follows its own path. Slow-burn Guy/OFC. Rated T for now but will bump up to M later.
1. Chapter 1: Slave

I currently have two ongoing stories (one of which is only on my AO3 account), so I _really_ shouldn't have started this one. But Guy beckoned, and I'm too weak to resist him. As the summary said, this takes place during season 2, meaning Guy is still mooning over Marian, but the events will mostly just be alluded to, while the story follows its own arc. It will also contain graphic descriptions of sex (eventually), violence, and the unpleasantness of medieval life, at which time the rating will be bumped up to **M.**

As always, story images can be found on my profile. Scroll down to "Story Images."

**Disclaimer:** I only own Thomas and the OFC, who is as yet unnamed (to everyone but me *titters*).

Enjoy! :)

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><p><strong>Chapter 1: Slave<strong>

Guy of Gisborne despised market day. Hoards of unwashed townsfolk bustling about, squeezing past each other, their malodorous scent hanging in the air long after they had gone. For the most part, people lowered their heads when they passed him, out of deference, he'd like to believe, but out of fear, he knew. Good. Let them fear him. They were less likely to cross him if they feared him.

Contrary to popular, public opinion, Guy did not enjoy tormenting them. He did what was required to remain in the Sheriff's favor. And _that_ was more important than anything else, except perhaps Marian.

Marian. A stubborn woman, who was too invested in the fates of the poor. Sometimes he wondered if she only accepted his advances to further her own cause, but these suspicions fled from his thoughts whenever she smiled at him.

Guy heaved a weary sigh and turned the corner, startling a woman carrying a basket of eggs. He glowered at her. She clutched her child's hand and hurried away. The slave market loomed ahead, already crowded with buyers. He despised this place the most. If the townsfolk stank, then those pitiful men and women in shackles smelled of something truly hellish.

"Ah, Thomas. I see you managed to elude Hood this time," greeted Guy. His hard, blue gaze swept the man's stock. "These look better than the last batch."

"Brought 'em from the continent, I did," the slaver replied, flashing Guy a yellow grin. "Somma the women are even half decen'." Thomas picked up one of the ropes and tugged forward a redheaded girl. Though she was covered in dirt and dust, her face was pretty enough. The slaver cupped her chin, oblivious to the tears in her blue eyes, and winked. "She doesn' speak neither."

"Delightful," Guy said dryly. "Where's the Sheriff's money, Thomas?"

The slaver released the girl, who stumbled back, silent sobs wracking her thin frame.

"As ye know, I lost half my stock on accoun' a Robin Hood." Thomas spat a discolored glob of saliva when he said the outlaw's name. "I need more time, Guy."

"_Sir_ Guy," the taller man hissed. He grabbed the collar of Thomas' shirt and brought his face close so that they were nose-to-nose. "You had better sell all these slaves at today's market, or else the Sheriff will be most displeased."

Fear flashed in the slaver's eyes, before he carefully removed Guy's hand from his shirt and stepped back.

"He'll get 'is due share," Thomas assured, with a scowl. "In the meantime, why dontcha pick a slave for yourself? On me."

"I have no use for a slave," Guy said. He turned and was about to leave, when a small woman sitting cross-legged on the ground caught his attention.

He walked over to her and crouched down to her level. Moss-green eyes stared back at him from behind a curtain of dark brown hair. Though she was as filthy as the others, she did not cower. On the contrary, she held his gaze defiantly. That surprised him.

Thomas rushed over and yanked on her rope, causing her to jerk forward. She would have fallen on her face had she not managed to balance herself on her knees. She pulled back, glaring at the slaver, and spat at his feet.

"You insolen' cur," he growled, readying his boot to kick her. But Guy intervened.

"Damage her and she won't sell well," he reminded.

The woman glanced at him, her eyes narrowing suspiciously. Guy thought she looked like an angry, feral cat, preparing to maul her aggressor. And from the wariness with which Thomas watched her, Guy had a feeling he'd run afoul of her before.

"This one won' sell well anyways," drawled the slaver. "Too wild."

"Indeed," Guy mused aloud. "I'll take her."

The girl's brows rose in surprise. Thomas' expression mirrored hers, though it was a far uglier reflection.

"You'll wha'?"

Guy stood and took the rope from Thomas' hands, untying it from the post.

"I'll take her," he repeated patiently, as though speaking to an idiot. "You said I could have one on the house, did you not?" The slaver nodded mutely. "Good," said Guy, clapping Thomas' shoulder. "I will return tomorrow for the payment you owe."

He pulled the girl to her feet and led her away from the slave market. That matted, dark hair swayed about her shoulders as she walked, with a slight limp, he noted. Several townsfolk watched her curiously but averted their gazes if she looked at them. When they reached his horse, he climbed into the saddle and urged the beast into a walk. The woman followed, the rope slack enough that it did not hurt her wrists. He didn't have to glance behind him to know that she was glaring at him. He felt the heat of it on his back. But Guy supposed he would glare, too, if in her position.

Once they were rid of Nottingham, he stopped the horse and turned in the saddle to address the girl.

"Get on."

She looked at him passively, though not dumbly. Still, perhaps she hadn't understood him.

"You," he said, pointing to her, "here." Guy patted the saddle and gestured for her to come near enough so that he could hoist her up onto it.

"I am not simple," she snapped, startling him, not with her tone but with her words. The girl correctly read his expression and snorted derisively. "Yes, I speak your language."

Indeed, she did, though with a moderate and unfamiliar accent.

He recovered from his shock and regarded her impatiently. "Then, since you understand what I say, get on the damned horse."

"No." Her chin jutted forward, as she held his gaze.

"Now is not the time to cling to whatever pride you believe you still possess," he warned.

"I have lost my family, my freedom, my home, and my livelihood," she said bitterly. "All I have left is my dignity."

Guy considered stealing that from her, too, but when he saw the fire in her eyes, he changed his mind. She had spirit, that one. On the one hand, he respected her for it. On the other hand, it irritated him. But no matter; she would entertain him well enough. And when her temperament became tiresome, he would enjoy breaking it.

He shrugged. "As you wish." His horse began to walk again, at a faster pace this time. The girl's limp grew more pronounced, and she winced every few steps yet uttered no complaint. "But I hope you don't expect a reprieve when we arrive."

"Of course not," she retorted. "I am a _slave_ now."

The words weren't spoken forlornly or piteously, but acerbically, as though they were something foul to be regurgitated. They made Guy even more curious as to who this girl had been prior to her capture. From the way she carried herself, head held high, despite her bedraggled state, one would think she had been of noble birth. If she were, then that could be rather problematic for both him and the Sheriff.

He considered questioning her but in the end, decided that he'd already behaved more leniently with her than was befitting a master to his slave. They continued on in silence after that, the only sounds the plodding of the horse's hooves and the girl's occasional stumbles.


	2. Chapter 2: Confrontation

Thank you to all who favorites, followed, and/or reviewed this story. *hugs*

redhouseclan: I'm glad you like the OC! Thank you. :)

Please read the author's note at the end of the chapter. It's important regarding the OFC.

Enjoy!

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><p><strong>Chapter 2: Confrontation<strong>

When they arrived at Locksley Manor, Guy slid from his horse and beckoned the girl forward. She came hesitantly, looking up at him with the first hint of uncertainty he'd seen since meeting her. Withdrawing his dagger, he smirked at her gasp, but instead of using it on her, as she'd clearly expected, he cut the rope around her wrists. It fell to the ground with a soft _thud_.

The girl instantly withdrew her hands and rubbed her wrists, the skin there chafed and caked with dried blood.

"Thank you," she said, bowing her head.

He watched her for a moment, then called for Mary, the head maid, to draw the girl a bath.

"I would really rather not," she said, her eyes widening and her gaze darting from Guy to the older woman. He thought she seemed too panicky for something as simple as a bath. But perhaps she feared water, like some peasants did.

"You're filthy, and you stink," he replied impatiently. Guy grabbed her arm and pulled her towards the door.

"No, please," the girl begged, all dignity forgotten. "I can wash out back with a cloth."

His brows furrowed, and then he laughed, understanding dawning. Fear morphed into anger, as she wrenched herself out of his grasp.

"You did not acquire me for _that_," she spat and wrapped her dirty cloak tightly around her body.

"Calm, woman," Guy placated, still amused. "I do not intend to take you. But unless you want to sleep in the stables with the horses, I suggest you bathe."

"Horses would be preferable company," she muttered, ignoring the hardening of his features.

"Suit yourself," he ground out. Flicking his hand towards Mary, who had been nervously observing the events, Guy said, "Fetch the girl soap, a cloth, and a basin of water." He turned on the young woman, all humor gone from his face. "After you clean yourself, the maids will give you food and explain your duties."

Without waiting for a reply, he stalked inside, slamming the door behind him. He was already regretting bringing that girl back with him.

#

After an unsuccessful attempt to woo Marian, Guy returned to Locksley Manor that night in an even fouler mood than usual. The other day, she had saved his life during his ill-fated duel with Hood, and the humiliation of that defeat still stung. Not only had he been set on fire and nearly drowned by the outlaw, but he had lost the black diamonds to him, as well. In the Sheriff's eyes, it was yet another failure in a long line of them. Guy was acutely aware that he was on borrowed time.

He sat down heavily at the table and poured a goblet of wine. Downing it, he poured a second and a third in rapid succession. His servants were nowhere to be found-hiding, most likely, reluctant to encounter their master's ire. Guy didn't blame them. There were times even _he_ wished he could escape from himself.

While refilling his cup for the fourth time, a figure emerged from the kitchens and set a plate of food in front of him. He looked up. It was the girl, appearing much improved in a clean kirtle. With the grime scrubbed from her skin, he noticed it was indeed a lighter shade than that of the slaves Thomas brought back from the Holy Land. Yet it nevertheless had an olive tone, which made him wonder again about her origins. But as before, he did not ask.

"More wine," he ordered. Guy bit into the meat and grimaced. He was growing tired of mutton.

The woman returned with the pitcher and topped up his goblet. As she turned to leave, his curiosity got the better of him.

"What's your name, girl?"

"Why does it matter?" she inquired, staring down at her feet. "You seem to enjoy calling me 'girl' and 'woman' well enough."

"It matters because I am your master, and I asked you a question."

She raised her head and glared at him. There it was. That defiance. He had been waiting for it.

"If I tell you my name, that is one more thing you will have stolen from me."

He rolled his eyes, exasperated. "I did not _steal_ your freedom," Guy said condescendingly. "That was Thomas. In fact, you might be grateful to me for sparing you a harder master."

She laughed, piquing his anger.

"Thank you, my lord," came the dry reply. Accompanying it was a mocking curtsey that made his blood boil.

Quick as an adder, he caught her wrist. "You tread on dangerous ground," he warned, his voice low and ominous. He tightened his grip, feeling her delicate bones shift beneath his hand. "If you're not careful, you shall earn yourself a beating."

There was a flash of fear in her eyes, as she tried to pull away. He let her, and she stumbled back, wincing in pain.

"You would beat me?" the girl inquired. "But I thought you had kindly spared me such a master."

"Oh, believe me," drawled Guy. "Another man would have beat you already. And likely raped you, too." His gaze raked over her, lingering on her covered legs, then settled on her face again. "Thomas is an idiot, but he was right about one thing. You _are_ insolent."

"Yes, another man would have punished me by now," she replied. "But women are beaten when they obey, as well as when they disobey. So what are we to do?"

Guy considered this and reluctantly acknowledged she had a point.

"Obey," he decided. "You may still be hit, but with less frequency."

"Perhaps," the girl conceded. "But I do not think I could abide that life."

"You would have no choice," he said softly, his ill will towards her diminished.

In that moment, he pitied her. She was clearly neither a Saracen nor a woman of low birth, unlike most of the slaves Thomas acquired. She probably had a family from where ever she hailed, maybe even a husband. A life of servitude should not have been her fate.

But then he remembered his own situation. A man of noble birth, dispossessed of his lands and title by _Hood_. A slave in his own right, forced to do the Sheriff's bidding yet denied any of the glory. Spurned by Marian, despised by the people.

And disrespected by a woman in his employ.

His features darkened, startling the girl.

"From now on, you will call me 'master,'" he barked. "You will do as I say, when I say. You will not speak out of turn, or talk back. You will be the meek servant, or so help me, I shall make you suffer."

She appeared taken aback by his harsh words and was silent, staring back at him with wide eyes. But in an instant, they narrowed, and she opened her mouth.

Guy was on her before she could reply, taking her upper arms in a bruising grip.

"You are my slave, _girl_, and don't you forget it," he hissed.

The impulse to throw her aside was strong, so consumed by anger and self-pity was he. Looming over her, he realized just how small and thin she was, just how easy it would be to demonstrate his dominance. She would fight him, of course-defiant as she was-, but he would overpower her effortlessly. A mere thrust of his arms, and she would crash into the chair. His pride would be gratified for a while, but like with every pain he had inflicted, the self-disgust would inevitably sober him.

He released her, noting that she was clutching his shirt, clearly expecting a more violent reaction. Her hands, which had turned white from the strength of her grip, loosened, and she cautiously looked up at his face. His eyes glinted coldly, but his fury had dissipated.

"You are dismissed for the night," he said tonelessly and removed her hands. "If you still insist on sleeping in the stables, find yourself a blanket."

With that, he grabbed the pitcher of wine and his goblet and ascended the stairs. Halfway up, her voice made him pause.

"Ajsa," said the girl. "My name is Ajsa

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><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> Ajsa is pronounced _Ahy_-sha, because the _j_ makes a _y_ sound and the _s_ sounds like _sh_.


	3. Chapter 3: Stars

Oops... I know it's been over a week since my last update. The only excuse I can give is that I was utterly swamped with work and deadlines. I try not to make a habit of late updates, but I was just so tired that I didn't feel like writing. Forgive me?

Anyway, thank you for the response to this story! *hugs* It's kept me motivated to at least write mentally, if not physically.

Sesshomaru's Babydoll: Don't worry about it, love; we're all quite busy. I'm glad you're liking the story so far! I hope Guy can charm you a little. ;) Incidentally, Guy is a struggle for me, too, but not in the same way as for you, I suspect. My morals must be slightly off-center, because I can more easily dismiss his bad behavior. For me, it's trying to reconcile how he was portrayed in the show, how Armitage views him, and the potential he so clearly has. That's what's this story is, really-a chance to explore his psyche and the what-ifs.

Guest: Lol, yes, I got tired of typing "girl" or "woman." But I also don't think masters cared what their servants'/slaves' names were, so that's why I waited with her name.

**Disclaimer:** After discovering how fun Vaisey is to write, I'm going to do it more often. Apologies in advance...

Enjoy! :) And sorry again for my tardiness.

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><p><strong>Chapter 3: Stars<strong>

Nobles and servants alike fled from the halls, as the Sheriff stalked down them, yelling curses that echoed through the castle. He was followed by Guy, who was oddly smiling, and a handful of guards hovering nearby to steady him if he stumbled. Which he did, when they rounded a corner. Still quite weak, he futilely slapped at the arms of his helpers, all the while muttering about "angels of death," "insane classist physicians," and "bloody Robin Hood."

The plot had been to poison Nottingham's peasants in an experiment to discover the most effective biological weapon. But, like most of Vaisey's plans, it went awry, resulting in his unwitting ingestion of the poison that he had intended for the poor.

The irony was not lost on Gisborne. On the contrary, it gave him a peculiar sort of pleasure.

That poison had nearly killed Vaisey, which was merely one of the reasons the man glared so balefully. He had been within inches of Robin Hood, but instead of _finally_ capturing him, he had been saved by him. Gisborne's smile morphed into a smirk. That had to sting the Sheriff's pride.

"Wipe that smug look off your face, Gisborne, or I'll cut it off," Vaisey snapped.

Guy didn't. For once, it hadn't been _his_ failure that had allowed Hood to escape, and he'd be damned if he wouldn't enjoy the moment.

"Apologies, my lord," he replied, not sounding regretful at all. "Shall I send men after him?"

"Has being jilted by the leper made you stupid, as well as pathetic?" inquired the Sheriff. "Of course you should send men after him! You should have _sent_ men after him already!"

Guy gave the order but didn't accompany the search parties. They wouldn't find the outlaw anyway. They never did.

"Anything else, my lord?"

Vaisey rounded on him, his eyes half-crazed from anger or near-death, Guy didn't know.

"Yes," hissed the Sheriff. "Find me a competent henchman, because you are utterly useless. Hood was _right there_, and you couldn't catch him."

Amusement danced in Gisborne's eyes, as he surveyed the bald man in front of him. "With respect, my lord, but neither could you. Or was that not the reason you were dangling head-first out the window?" Vaisey looked like he would spit fire, and before he could retort, Guy continued. "I might have caught him, had I not been hauling you back inside. But the next time, I shall remember to let you fall."

Vaisey turned a reddish-purple hue, but the sudden lurch of his stomach took precedence over whatever threat he might have levied at Guy. Bending double, he retched, only narrowly avoiding Gisborne's boots.

"Take the Sheriff to his chambers," Guy commanded, disgusted. "And find someone to clean up that mess."

He watched two guards half-carry a belligerent Vaisey up the stairs, then headed outside to supervise the disposal of Joseph's body. Townspeople had gathered around it, observing the bloodied, mangled form with a perverse fascination. Gisborne was no stranger to horrific sights, but the unnatural angle of the man's neck unsettled him.

When the peasants noticed Guy's approach, they parted. Mothers clutched their children, while men hurled insults at him, condemning him a murderer and the Devil's right hand man. He pushed past them, roughly shoving aside the most vehement of the protestors.

"I was not the one who poisoned you," he snarled and pointed at Joseph. "_He_ was."

Guy didn't know why he even bothered to defend himself; those louts would hate him regardless. Nevertheless, he didn't fancy being blamed for a crime he did not commit. God knew there were enough sins damning his soul as it was.

He allowed them a moment to spit on Joseph's dead body, before ordering the guards to herd them away.

"Get rid of him," he barked to the soldiers. "Bury him, burn him, toss him in the river...just make him disappear."

On his way back to the castle, he encountered Marian, shadowed by her "goon," as she called her guard. He regarded her coolly, his self-esteem still smarting from her most recent rebuff.

"Guy, I wanted to apologize for earlier," she said, looking up at him earnestly. Her blue eyes were soft, and he could almost pretend they held a glimmer of affection. "I was concerned about the people and mistakenly blamed you for their misfortune."

"You wouldn't be the only one," he murmured.

"No, I suppose not," she agreed. Marian glanced at the angry crowd trying to reach Joseph. "Their response is not unprovoked, though. Surely you realize that." His features darkened, and she amended her statement. "I do not mean they should react with violence, of course, but they suffered terribly at the hands of that madman."

Whether she was referring to Joseph or to the Sheriff, Guy didn't know, nor did he wish to. If she publically spoke ill of the Sheriff, Guy would be forced to take action, and then she would surely despise him. As it was, she wasn't terribly fond of him after he had torched her house.

"Life _is_ suffering, Marian," he said brusquely. "The sooner you learn that, the better."

Whatever kindness she had felt towards him vanished, along with the almost-affection he had seen in her eyes.

"My home has been reduced to ash, my father is imprisoned, and I am confined to the castle, with a goon breathing down my neck at all hours," she retorted. "I am no stranger to unhappiness as of late."

"Be thankful you do not share your father's cell," Guy warned. "If it were up to the Sheriff, that's exactly what your fate would have been. It was only my intervention that spared you from it."

Marian sighed, and just like that, her demeanor towards him changed.

"I know, Guy," she said. "And I thank you. But it still pains me to think of my father in that cold, dank place."

"I have already instructed the prison guards to feed him properly," Guy told her. "There is nothing else I can do to make him more comfortable."

"You could persuade the Sheriff to release him."

"I cannot, Marian, and you know it." Guy was acutely aware that freeing her father would earn him her gratitude, but once again, he was torn between his ambitions and his affections.

"And you say you want power?" she scoffed. "You couldn't even stop the Sheriff from imprisoning my father after I had saved your life."

Guilt warred with anger, and as usual, anger won.

"You will never let me forget that, will you?" Guy snarled. "How many times have I intervened on your behalf? How many times have I turned a blind eye to your transgressions?" He advanced on her, his gaze as hard as his tone. "You are so keen to remind me of my debt to you, while conveniently forgetting yours to me."

She opened her mouth to reply, but Guy stormed past her, calling to a guard over his shoulder to escort the Lady Marian to her quarters. He had endured his fair share of humiliation from other knights, Hood, and the Sheriff, but he refused to tolerate it from Marian, as well. She was a woman, and she would learn her place, or would suffer the consequences.

#

It was late, nearly midnight, when Guy rode up to Locksley Manor. After the Sheriff had recovered from his poisoning, he spent hours berating Gisborne and cursing Hood, until Guy had managed to change the subject to what should be done about the outlaw. Nothing particularly clever was suggested by either of them, because they had already tried and failed at countless schemes, so they stewed in silence over their respective predicaments. It didn't take long for Vaisey to tire of this brooding, and he sent Gisborne away with the typical warning-he must kill Hood, or else the knight's usefulness would be at an end.

Little did that vile man know, Guy had just saved his scrawny neck. And what did he receive in return? Insults and threats. He had grown tired of them, which was why he'd employed Allan as his spy. With the information the turncoat provided, Guy would be one step ahead of the outlaw and would _finally_ be rewarded with the recognition he deserved.

Lost in these thoughts, he nearly missed the figure standing to the side of the house, gazing up at the inky sky.

It was the girl. Ajsa.

"Shouldn't you be asleep?"

"Shouldn't you be at the castle?"

He sighed, suddenly quite weary, and sent his horse to its stall with the groom.

"You have early hours, Ajsa," Guy reminded her. "I shall not be lenient if you awaken late because you were staring up at the sky when you should have been sleeping."

"I am not a child to be ordered to bed," she protested, but her tone lacked venom. Her attention was still on the stars, that dark hair shrouding part of her face.

"No," he agreed and stood in front of her. "But you _are_ my servant. And as such, you will do as I say."

She looked at him, then, her features discernible in the light of the gibbous moon. Guy couldn't help but notice the sad glimmer in her eyes or the wetness on her cheeks.

"Of course, Master."

There was no mockery in her acquiescence or in her curtsey, as she gathered her skirts and walked into the house. In fact, she had sounded like his other servants, obliging and resigned.

"Wait." She stopped but didn't turn, not even when his footsteps grew nearer. "How did you get that limp?"

Although it had improved since his acquisition of Ajsa, he knew it still pained her.

"Broken ankle," she said tonelessly. "May I go inside now?"

Guy wanted to ask if Thomas had been the cause of her injury but instead said, "Yes, get to bed."

He watched the girl collect her flimsy shawl and retreat into the small room off the kitchen. Guy smirked. After three nights, it appeared she had grown tired of sleeping in the stables. Well, that was progress, at least, because she had overcome enough of her pride to accept the relative comfort of the servant's quarters.


	4. Chapter 4: Witches

Little by little, we learn about Ajsa. Hint: I write nothing without good reason.

williewildcat: I like Marian most of the time, but I obviously don't like that she leads Gisborne on. However, you'd be surprised just how much her goodness manages to rub off on him. That's one of the things I will explore in this story.

fiamma71: Yes, Armitage's own thoughts about Guy are definitely in the back of my mind when I write this story. I, too, am trying to capture the dichotomy of good and wicked, hard and gentle that he so clearly struggles with. It's a lot easier than one would expect, probably because there are already so many examples I can follow from the show (kudos to Armitage).

Thanks, all, for the continued interest! *hugs*

**Disclaimer:** I only own Ajsa.

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><p><strong>Chapter 4: Witches<strong>

Ajsa watched aghast as the chair was submerged. Soldiers were gathered around the pond in the center of Locksley, with the Sheriff and Guy of Gisborne sitting at the crux of them. Even from the other side of the pond, she could see the bald man's glee. Mary and the other servants had told her about Vaisey, how he'd once ordered Gisborne to cut out villagers' tongues, until someone would confess Robin Hood's whereabouts. No one had, but apparently it had been Robin himself who had saved the day. Ajsa had expected that. She'd heard whispers of the beloved outlaw even before Guy had acquired her, and he seemed almost too good to be true. So of course, like the other villagers, she was waiting for him to stop this madness, as well.

A woman's angry shouts drew her attention. She had been condemned as a witch, Ajsa knew. And the punishment for that was dunking. It wasn't the first time the girl had witnessed it, but she was no less appalled now than that first time, all those years ago.

While her fellow servants wondered if the woman really _was_ a witch, Ajsa was certain the Sheriff had merely created the charges on a whim. There was no gravity surrounding this dunking, nor was there a priest present. On the contrary, the atmosphere-for Vaisey, at least-was jovial, though Gisborne's disposition spoke of boredom, as he absently took the grape his superior proffered him.

The second dunking lasted longer than the first, and when the poor woman was finally brought back up, Ajsa feared the worst. Then a scream pierced the tension, startling even Guy and the Sheriff, who, quite disturbed now, quickly ordered her to be submerged again. Another interminable wait followed, the anticipatory silence broken only by the murmurs of the villagers, then the chair was raised a third time. But the body was missing.

The onlookers gasped. Some made the sign of the cross, while others glanced around fearfully, as though expecting to see Satan himself, with the purported witch by his side. The Sheriff looked furious, and Gisborne shouted a command, but a brunette woman, who Ajsa had not noticed before, was grinning. She was rather pretty, and after Guy had finished with the guards, he joined her.

Considering the horrors she had heard about the man, Ajsa was surprised to see his features transfigured when he spoke to the woman. Gone was the hard expression; it had been replaced with one infinitely softer. So the Devil's henchman had a heart after all, she thought, and it was ensnared by the pretty brunette.

"Come, Ajsa, back ta yer duties," said Mary, herding her towards the house with a hand between her shoulder blades. "If the Master returns and sees ye idle, he won' be 'appy."

But he did not appear very happy now either, Ajsa noted, as she glanced at him over her shoulder. The woman was riding away, leaving a scowling Gisborne in her horse's dusty wake. The girl smiled, instantly liking anyone who could make her _master_ resemble a jilted lover.

If Ajsa resumed scrubbing the floors with a touch more enthusiasm than was befitting the chore, the other servants attributed it to her strange, foreign ways.

#

Much later, when Gisborne arrived at Locksley Manor, he wasn't surprised that the slave girl sat with her face upturned to the sky. This was how he had found her nearly every night lately. Stabling his stallion, he walked over to her, looming above her seated frame.

"Will you finally explain what is so damnably fascinating about those stars?"

She didn't look at him, as she said, "They change."

Instinctively, he glanced up but caught himself and reverted his attention to Ajsa. She seemed sad again, though mercifully did not appear to have cried tonight.

"Of course they change," he retorted. "The seasons change, too. Do you also marvel at the turning leaves and the falling snow?"

_Now_ she looked at him, those moss-green eyes suddenly alight with anger.

"Have you ever been wrenched from your home?" she inquired acerbically. "From your family, your kin?"

"Actually, I have," he replied, regarding her coolly. "Your...circumstance is not a happy one, I grant you that, but do not think you are unique in your suffering."

"Oh, no," Ajsa said dryly. "How unfortunate you are to be a free man, to have wealth and position and a home to call your own."

Guy hauled her up and grasped her chin, forcing her gaze to meet his.

"You know _nothing_," he spat. Her previously mocking expression had given way to a cautious curiosity, which only enraged him further. "My life is neither comfortable nor easy, and I have done things that would quell even your defiant spirit." His hand trailed down her neck, gloved fingers caressing the hollow of her throat. "I have been patient thus far, but I warn you to be careful with the liberties you take. One day soon, I might not be quite so tolerant."

"Yes, well, until that day dawns, I will continue to assert what little freedom I have."

Despite knowing that the stroking hand could just as easily squeeze, Ajsa did not oblige him with the subservience he had obviously expected. His eyes darkened dangerously.

"Why do you not fear me?" he demanded.

The hand on her neck tightened into a fist, and for an instant, she was afraid he might hit her with it. But it merely withdrew to his side harmlessly.

"I do not fear you because one who has lost everything has nothing left to lose," she replied, her voice strangely hollow.

The sudden change in her demeanor perplexed Gisborne, as just seconds ago, she had been glaring at him with her head held high. Now she appeared to fold in on herself, her arms hugging her still-thin frame. Before he could reply, she stepped away from him.

"By your leave, Master, I would retire now."

He considered making her stay and answer his multitude of questions, but he was worried that would result in tears. And if there was one thing Gisborne could stomach less than Hood and Vaisey, it was a weeping woman.

He waved his hand, dismissing her. She hurried inside and shut the door behind her. Guy stared at the spot she had vacated, lost, against his better judgment, in theories about Ajsa.


	5. Chapter 5: Honey and Cinnamon Butter

I don't know why, but I really like this chapter.

Thank you, as always, for the reviews, follows, and favorites! *hugs*

flowerbird: Yes, as stated in the story summary, _The Taming_ will be Guy/OFC (Ajsa) and I guess Robin/Marian, though I won't actually write Marian unless in relation to either Guy or Ajsa.

williewildcat: Oh, she crosses the line a lot, for the time period, haha. But she's also relatively fearless in the face of angry men, for reasons that will be revealed later... Plus, as this chapter shows, Guy doesn't exactly _hate_ Ajsa's cheek, lol.

fiamma71: Yes, it was very important for me to emphasize the similarities between Guy's and Ajsa's situations, despite their seeming very _dis_similar at first glance. And that does play into his treatment of her; a part of him sympathizes/empathizes with her, which was why he had taken her. She would certainly have been treated more harshly by another man. But on the other hand, he's also warring with his conscience and with the image he's supposed to show, so in a way, his interaction with Ajsa, like his interaction with Marian, brings out this dichotomy but in a slightly different way. And that was always something I'd wanted to explore.

nothinggoingonhere: Haha, thank you! I'm glad you like Ajsa. But I wouldn't necessarily say she's "weak". More like, she knows when to pull back, as williewildcat wrote in a review. But she's definitely sassy!, which is why she's such fun to write. :)

**Disclaimer:** We all know _Robin Hood_ and Gisborne don't belong to me.

Enjoy! :)

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><p><strong>Chapter 5: Honey and Cinnamon Butter<strong>

Marian was gone, had sneaked away to a bloody convent, only to return days later and kiss him, before leaving again. It had been a week since that day, since that perfect moment when Guy had actually believed she would finally be with him. He had been an idiot to take a grieving woman's actions seriously.

Still, the thought of her giving herself to God, of being _married_ to God, filled him with a mixture of amusement, despair, and scorn.

"A nun," he scoffed, drinking deeply from his goblet. It was barely seven in the morning, and he was already halfway through a pitcher of wine.

"Sorry?" came a voice from behind him. Guy looked up as Ajsa set a plate of food in front of him. With her limp gone, the girl moved so quietly that he had forgotten about her.

"Nothing," he grunted and picked up the slice of bread. The butter looked different, darker than usual, almost brownish. He sniffed it, fearing it had spoiled, and recoiled in surprise.

For the first time since acquiring her, Guy heard Ajsa laugh. The giggles were louder than he had expected from such a small woman, but against his better judgment, he found himself liking them.

"I mixed in honey and cinnamon," she explained, sitting across from him. He stared at her, eyebrows raised at her brazenness. Obviously, no one had informed her that servants did not sit with masters. "It is one of the ways my village made butter."

"Your village," Guy repeated, one brow arching. "And where is that?"

Her humor vanished, and a stoic expression replaced it.

"Far away," she said, then stood abruptly. Ajsa reached for his plate, but he caught her wrist.

"I didn't say I did not like it." Their gazes met. For an instant, Guy thought he saw a flash of relief on her face, but the cool mask reappeared before he could verify the subtle emotion. "But don't make it too often, mind. Cinnamon isn't cheap."

"Yes, my lord," she said and pulled her arm away to curtsey.

Ajsa had been remarkably well-behaved lately, a fact which both pleased and discomfited Gisborne. He would be lying if he said he hadn't secretly enjoyed her impudence. It reminded him of Marian.

"Oh, and if you are concerned that the Lady Marian will become a nun, worry not," she said wryly. "I have known many nuns, and she is much too spirited to take orders from God."

"How do you know about that?" Guy demanded.

She gave him an exasperated look. Apparently not _all_ her impertinence had departed, as he'd supposed.

"How else do you think servants pass the time?" she inquired. "We gossip. Besides, I overheard you and Alan-A-Dale the night Lady Marian left."

"You should not be eavesdropping on my private conversations," he growled, but the reprimand was half-hearted, and they both knew it.

"Believe me, my lord, I do not do so intentionally," Ajsa quipped, and from her tone, he suspected she was implying more than she was saying. "But the next time he is here, I shall go outside to avoid accidentally overhearing anything."

Now it was his turn to be exasperated. "Get to your duties, girl," he snapped. "And bring me another jug of wine."

"Yes, my lord." She curtseyed again, no hint of mocking in her reply or mannerisms, yet he couldn't shake the feeling that she was nevertheless laughing at him.

Guy sighed. The woman was often more effort than she was worth. But another taste of the honey and cinnamon butter had him reconsidering that thought.

#

Locksley Manor was a flurry of activity, as the servants cleaned, cooked, and prepared for Gisborne's birthday celebration. Ajsa was setting down the massive plates of food, when Alan entered. He whistled, his eyes widening as he took in the room.

"You've gone all out, then, haven' ya?"

"Sir Guy's orders," she replied and turned to retrieve more of the food.

Alan followed, watching her balance two large, silver platters with all sorts of meat on them. He took one of the platters and winked at her.

"Giz'll have your head if you drop one of those."

Ajsa gave him a withering look but did not refuse the help.

"I was not going to drop it," she insisted.

Alan grinned. "Then consider it an act of chivalry for chivalry's sake."

"Chivalry," she snorted. "It has indeed been a long time since I have experienced _that_."

"Oi! I'm plenty chivalrous," he protested. "And I'd be even more chivalrous if you'd let me."

"Alan!" came Gisborne's shout.

"I think our master will appreciate your chivalry better than I," remarked Ajsa. The hint of a smile played upon her lips, intriguing Alan.

"Nah, you're at least gentle in your rebuffs," he said. Gisborne's shout sounded more impatient this time. "Anyway, I'll see ya later."

"That is inevitable," she replied and returned to setting the table.

A few hours later, the guests began to arrive. Ajsa remained in the kitchen whenever she could, especially once the Sheriff showed up, but with Mary and the other servants occupied with their own tasks, she was often saddled with wine duty.

"A new servant, Gisborne?" asked Vaisey, while Ajsa refilled his goblet.

Guy was relieved that for once, she kept her head bowed and her mouth shut.

"Yes," he replied. "She does her work well."

The Sheriff's gaze traveled over her body, lingering on her hips and breasts, before settling on her face.

"Yes, I'm sure she does," he said. "It's good you've found a pretty distraction from the leper. You were becoming even sulkier than usual."

Gisborne drained his goblet and motioned to Ajsa for more wine. He didn't like the glint in Vaisey's eyes as he watched her, which was ridiculous, because she was a mere slave. Men regularly bedded female servants; that was one of low-born women's uses, or so he was meant to believe. But for a reason he could not explain, he felt that Ajsa was different. She had _been_ someone before her capture, someone of importance and perhaps even of status. And that, coupled with her saucy personality, reminded him too much of Marian for comfort.

"She's a good distraction," he agreed, glancing at the girl out of the corner of his eye. She remained blessedly silent. And soon, Vaisey moved onto the topic of taxes, allowing Ajsa to slip away unnoticed.

After that, the celebration went downhill. Ajsa only knew what she overheard-a one-legged messenger evading capture, Robin Hood, Lardner's ring, and a fool who dealt in tricks. And now Guy and his men, including Alan, were taking the villagers' rings and threatening to cut off their fingers. She observed the scene from the stables, witnessing Gisborne's cruelty for the first time. She had heard stories of it, of course, and first-hand accounts of it, as well, but seeing it for herself gave her much food for thought.

Such as why he had not used violence to force _her_ into obedience.

When the sand in the hourglass ran out, Ajsa went back inside the house to help clean up the feast. There would be no more need for it, and she preferred not to watch Gisborne cut off a woman's finger. For a moment, she paused at the door, considering whether she should try to help the villager. But it was ludicrous to believe that Gisborne would listen to a slave. So she grabbed a rag and began wiping down the tables, feeling supremely guilty for possessing all ten fingers.


	6. Chapter 6: Conversation

I'm so late that I'm actually a tad embarrassed. I was going though some personal shit, which made writing difficult after my RL work, but I am sorry. I'm getting better, though, so hopefully I won't disappear for weeks at a time again...

fiamma71: Yes, Guy does have a tendency to grasp people's wrists, haha. It's why I write it so often in the chapters. You have an incredibly thorough perspective on Guy and Ajsa's interactions. Some of the things you write were not even apparent to me! But you're actually right about them, go figure. I swear you see into my mind. ;)

williewildcat: Yes, Alan is a dear. :) He was my favorite out of Robin's gang, so I jumped at the chance to write him. As for Ajsa's situation, yes, it's quite unfavorable, but I don't think the punishment would come from Guy. He seems to balk at harming women and children, and Ajsa strikes a chord within him, for whatever reason.

Thank you for the continued interest in this story! And special thank you to my reviewers. *hugs*

Enjoy!

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><p><strong>Chapter 6: Conversation<strong>

Gisborne watched Ajsa clear the table, his signature glower hardening his handsome face. He was frustrated, as was the pattern lately, but there was hurt mixed in with the irritation, as well. How many times was Marian going to refuse him? What more could he do to prove his sincerity? He had returned to face Prince John's troops with her; he had returned to face certain death. Was that not evidence enough of his love for her?

"More wine, Sir Guy?" offered Ajsa.

He looked up at the silver decanter held towards him.

"Yes," he snapped. His other servants would have shrunk away, but Ajsa merely refilled his goblet and observed him with a thoughtful expression. It irked him while it intrigued him. "Stop staring, girl, and get to your duties."

"It is nearly midnight, so I do not have duties," she replied, unruffled by his biting tone. Gisborne wasn't even surprised when she sat down across from him. "You are troubled."

"And _you_ are presumptuous," he retorted.

"Yes," she agreed, the hint of a smile forming on her lips. "But I do not see anyone else willing to listen."

He glared at her. "I never said I wanted to talk."

"No, but you do."

Gisborne downed his wine, then regarded her with a raised brow.

"You sound so sure of that," he said. "Were you a mind-reader before becoming a slave?"

Ajsa's face fell, the subtle smile morphing into a frown. She stood and pushed back the bench, but Guy's hand on hers made her pause.

"I may be presumptuous and insolent, but at least I care that you are troubled." Although her head was bowed, he saw a tear trickle down her cheek. "You, on the other hand, have not ceased to taunt me since you acquired me."

"I'm your master," he reminded her. "You are mine to do with as I wish." Ajsa tried to leave, but he gripped her hand. "Sit."

Gisborne knew that all she wanted to do was to get away from him, but after Marian's rejection and the day's events, he was glad for the company. After she sat down, he refilled his goblet and pushed it towards her.

"Drink," he commanded. She did, and Guy couldn't help but notice the way her throat moved as she swallowed or the slight stain of the wine on her lips. Denied female companionship for so long, he felt himself stirring at the sight. "Tell me about your home."

Ajsa appeared startled by his words, her eyes widening as she looked at him. He raised his eyebrows expectantly yet knew she would not cooperate immediately.

"Why?"

"You are an infuriating woman," he sighed. "Has anyone ever told you that?"

"Yes," she said. "Now answer my question."

"Insolent, too," he muttered and took a long drink of the wine. "You wanted to talk, so talk."

"No," she said, crossing her arms across her chest. "You will only mock me."

Gisborne smirked. "Perhaps, but it's due time you explained why you're different from the other slaves."

"I am more foolish."

"Yes," he agreed, nodding. "But I want to know _why_."

Ajsa was silent, gazing intently at a knick in the wooden table. He waited with the semblance of patience, while she considered her next action. Finally, she uncrossed her arms and looked at him.

"I was the village healer in Orosháza in the Kingdom of Hungary."

Guy didn't know what he was expecting, but it certainly wasn't _that_.

"How very anticlimactic," he drawled. "From the way you carried yourself, I'd expected you to have been at least a lesser noble."

"How do you know I am not?"

Gisborne laughed. "Because nobles do not become healers, and healers do not become nobles."

"Not in your narrow-minded view of the world, no," she said, aware of but ignoring the darkening of his features. "My father was important to the king, so he was given lands and a title."

"Damn it," he growled, his hands clenching into fists.

"There is no need to panic," she assured him, correctly ascertaining his thoughts. "My father will not come for me."

"He didn't _sell _you to Thomas, did he?"

Ajsa regarded him with mild amusement at his dismay.

"No," she replied. "He is dead."

His fists unclenched. Whatever exasperation he had felt towards her had vanished. He knew all too well the pain of losing a parent.

"Mine, too," he said softly. "As is my mother."

She nodded, but whether in agreement or acknowledgement, he did not know. Before he could ask, however, she stood.

"It is late," she said. "And as you never cease to remind me, my tasks begin early."

Guy didn't respond, merely watched her retreat through the kitchen into the servants' quarters. He had made no grand confessions about Marian, yet somehow, he felt more content.


	7. Chapter 7: Harbor

So...now that the question of Ajsa's origins has been answered, I can explain them a bit. Orosháza is a real city in southeast Hungary. In the Middle Ages, particularly prior to the Mongol Invasion of 1242-1243, it was one of the most important settlements in Hungary, especially in southeast Hungary. Nobles were determined quite differently in early medieval Hungary than elsewhere in Europe at the time. Whereas knights and chivalry were deemed important in medieval Europe, it was land ownership that set apart the nobility from the lower classes in Hungary. Thus, a peasant or a blacksmith could become a noble if the king gave him land. Ajsa's name, as well as her appearance, is a throwback to early medieval Hungary, because it reflects Hungary's eastern/Iranian influence during the early Middle Ages.

fiamma71: Wow, your reviews are incredibly insightful! I actually did not consciously liken Guy to Ajsa during her confession (fathers acquiring land, healer in the family, Guy having "sold" Isabella, etc), short of the fact that both lost their father. But I must have been thinking it subconsciously, because it all fits, haha. So thank you for your reviews; they are always eye-opening. :)

Art Counterclockwise: Yes, Ajsa will eventually capture Gisborne's heart, but it will take time. ;)

williewildcat: Game of chess. Interesting comparison!

AmalieNico: Thank you!

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><p><strong>Chapter 7: Harbor<strong>

When Ajsa returned from the market, Locksley Manor was a bustle of activity. Thornton, Gisborne's manservant, was hauling a medium-sized trunk downstairs, while Mary was wrapping a loaf of bread in a cloth.

Alan followed Thornton, carrying a much smaller chest. From the way its contents clinked, Ajsa guessed it contained Gisborne's money.

"Has Robin Hood finally reclaimed the manor?" she inquired, only half seriously.

Alan's brows furrowed. "Why d'ya ask that?'

"Because Sir Guy's things are being taken away."

"He's, uh, leavin' for a while," Alan said haltingly. "Actually, we both are."

"Really? Where are you going?"

"I can't exactly tell ya that, now can I?" Alan said, with a wink.

Ajsa frowned. "On the Sheriff's business, then," she deduced. "That does not bode well."

Gisborne descended the stairs, his expression stormy.

"If you're finished flirting with the slave, Alan, we've got places to be," he snapped.

Alan flashed her an apologetic smile and went to saddle the horses. Guy stopped before Ajsa, his features softening the tiniest bit.

"Keep to your duties while I'm gone," he instructed. "Don't even think of trying to escape, because you _will_ be found. And I assure you, the slave-catchers are far less merciful than I am."

"I will not escape," she said tonelessly.

Gisborne smirked. "Don't lie to me, girl. I saw that calculating look when Alan told you we were leaving."

Ajsa's lips twitched, but her face remained the picture of innocence.

"Perhaps you should ration your wine, my lord, for you are surely mistaken."

"Fair warning," he said, shrugging. "If you're caught, don't expect me to rescue you. As it is, you've been more trouble than worth."

"So you remind me daily," she quipped and bent into a curtsey. "Safe travels, Master."

Guy watched her retreat into the kitchen, the barest of smiles lingering on his lips.

#

Dartmouth harbor made Ajsa nervous. She tried to navigate through the port as quickly and covertly as possible, but the hoards of unwashed sailors nevertheless leered at her. She pulled her cloak tighter around her body and kept her head down, wishing for a spell of invisibility.

Ajsa was stepping onto the gangplank of the ship that would carry her to freedom, when a familiar, gruff voice had her stumbling. If the man behind her hadn't gripped her arm, she would have toppled into the water.

"Hurry up, Gisborne, or I'll leave your drunk arse here to rot!"

Her head shot up, her eyes wide with shock.

"Ye all right, miss?" asked the man who had caught her.

She nodded absently, her gaze fixed on the large man following Vaisey off the neighboring ship. His gait was uncertain, as was the Sheriff's, but he looked particularly unwell. Even from a distance, Ajsa noted his greasy hair, unkempt beard, and haggard appearance.

"Yes, I am fine," she answered finally.

The woman was about to continue up the gangplank, but Gisborne's gaze alighted upon her. She froze. The man behind her gave her a gentle push, but her legs refused to work.

And then Guy was striding towards her ship, his expression as murderous as she had ever seen it. Clutching the hem of her kirtle, Ajsa hurried up the walkway, but a hand on her shoulder roughly yanked her backwards.

"Where do you think you're going?" snarled Gisborne in her ear. He was so close that she could feel the prickle of his beard on her neck. "You're not escaping, are you?"

He swung her around, heedless of the curious stares. Ajsa could see just how haggard he was. The black leather that had previously fitted him like a glove hung loosely on his frame. His cheekbones were sharper, accentuating the dark circles beneath his eyes. But it was the hollowness in his gaze that startled her the most. She had known him to be a passionate man, but now, staring down at her, even his anger lacked fire.

"What has happened to you?" she asked.

His brows furrowed, as if he were confused by her question, and a heart-achingly sad look flashed in his eyes. But instead of replying, Gisborne grasped her wrist and led her down the gangplank towards the waiting carriage. The Sheriff, who had been impatiently sitting inside, brightened.

"Ah, the pretty servant," he remarked, his bejeweled tooth glinting in the sunlight. "Not such a good worker, after all, then. I do hope you'll punish her, Gisborne. It may even make you feel better."

Guy grunted and glared through the bars of the carriage as it set off. Ajsa sat uncomfortably beside him, wary of Vaisey's gleeful gaze, and prayed that the next 200 miles would pass uneventfully. However, the current moods of her travel companions suggested otherwise.


	8. Chapter 8: Vulnerable

I'm just going to stop apologizing and making excuses for my sporadic updates... (I'm sorry!) However, as such, I am doubly grateful to those who have stuck with me. Thank you, my lovelies.

fiamma71: I hope everything with you is okay! (You mentioned things were "challenging" in your last review.) Magnetism...wow, that's a great word to describe Guy and Ajsa's relationship. Drawing each other together, while simultaneously repelling them. Everything that you've commented on (the dualism and similarities between Guy and Ajsa, their ability to read each other, their tenuous relationship) comes to a head in this chapter, and I'm super curious to read what you think of it!

Sesshomaru's Babydoll: Psh, don't apologize. You're still around, and I'm glad for that! Remember the days when I used to update _every_ week? Yeah, those were good times... Yes, this story has short chapters because it _kinda sorta_ doesn't have a plot. Not one like _Soul Healing _did, at least, and that's part of the fun. (I struggle with plot.) BUT, this chapter is longer! :D

AmalieNico: Thank you! Your review made me so happy, because I have a hard time with descriptions. :)

**Disclaimer:** I wrote this the day after seeing _The Hobbit: The Battle of the Five Armies_, so it might get ya right in the feels. Also, it's Guy post-Holy Land...

Enjoy! :)

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><p><strong>Chapter 8: Vulnerable<strong>

By the time the trio reached Nottingham, even the Sheriff's mood had soured. It had been a long, slow journey, full of reluctant conversations and tense silences. Adding to the travelers' discomfort was a massive storm that produced fierce flashes of lightning and culminated in a flooding of the roads. The driver was anxious to stop, lest the wagon become mired in mud, but Vaisey refused. For once, Guy and Ajsa were glad for the Sheriff's brute insistence. Though the wind beat the rain through the bars of the carriage, soaking the occupants, they were all three impatient to part company with each other.

Ajsa spent much of the trip stewing in frustration. She'd been so close to freedom, so close to reclaiming her previous life, that the disappointment ate away at her like acid. If she had made it onto that ship, she, too, would be going home. She would be rid of damp England and of her surly master. What was the phrase he always used in reference to her? More trouble than she's worth. Well, the sentiment was heartily returned.

Yet now, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye, she wondered if perhaps she had been mistaken about him. The angry, confident man had disappeared, leaving behind a hollow shell that looked as if it were about to collapse in on itself. What had caused such a deterioration, Ajsa did not know. He hadn't risen to Vaisey's provocation, despite the bald man's repeated attempts. In fact, he had not spoken more than a handful of words the entire journey, opting instead to stare at the passing scenery or to close his eyes. But from the rate of his breathing, Ajsa knew he did not sleep.

The wagon came to a halt in the courtyard of Nottingham Castle. Vaisey sprang out and began barking commands at his guards and servants. But Ajsa's attention was on Gisborne, who hadn't moved in over an hour.

"We've arrived, Sir Guy," she informed him warily.

He unfolded those long limbs and stepped out of the carriage. A groom brought him his stallion, and without so much as a backwards glance at her, he mounted and rode off. Ajsa was left standing in the center of the courtyard, fury coursing through her disheveled frame. Kicking the wheel of the wagon, she cursed violently in Hungarian. Some of the soldiers eyed her with amusement; others, with surprise, for they did not need to understand her words to understand their meaning.

'Oi, sweetheart!" called one of the guards. "I may not be no fancy knight like Sir Guy, but I sure won' leave ya behind."

Ajsa whirled on the man and glared at him.

"I am not a whore," she snapped.

"Aye, maybe not," he replied, smirking lasciviously. "But ya've got the mouth o' one."

Another soldier joined in, his gaze raking over her figure.

"Not the body, though," he commented critically. "Too skinny and small, if ya get my meanin'."

Ajsa did indeed get his meaning, and she was not amused. However, quite aware of her own vulnerability, she bit her tongue to keep from reacting. Taking a deep breath, she spun on her heel and walked away, the men's lecherous jeers accompanying her far past the gate of the castle.

#

Hours later, when Ajsa walked through the door of Locksley Manor, the house appeared to be devoid of people. The servants were gone, and Guy was nowhere to be seen. But a _thud_ from above disproved her initial observation.

She ascended the stairs and peeked into the largest bedroom. Gisborne was sat on the floor, half-dressed, his head in his hands. The woman watched him for a few seconds, before cautiously entering. As she drew nearer, the scent of wine pervaded the air around him, seemingly clinging to his person. Glimpsing the burgundy-colored stain that extended from his chin to his bellybutton, Ajsa reckoned that the stench really _was_ clinging to him.

"You spilled wine on yourself," she remarked.

Gisborne acknowledged neither her presence nor her words. Sighing, she dipped a cloth into the water basin and crouched in front of him.

"You must sit up straight if I am to wipe away that wine," she said tonelessly. Guy didn't move. Ajsa hesitantly touched his shoulder, but he shrugged away. "Very well. Continue to stink of wine, then."

She was about to stand, when a hand on her knee stayed her. Ajsa's breath faltered at the sight that greeted her. Eyes that had once been crystal blue were now red-rimmed and clouded with something frighteningly akin to grief. She did not know what shocked her more, the fact that Gisborne could feel sorrow or that he seemed to be reaching out to her.

"May I, uh..."

Ajsa gestured to his bare torso and received the barest of nods. She felt his gaze on her while she worked. It unnerved her, but she tried to ignore it. The pale skin mere centimeters away, however, was more difficult to ignore. His current haggard appearance aside, Guy was a handsome man with an incredibly powerful frame, even, apparently, when he had lost a significant amount of weight.

"Thank you," he murmured, once she had finished.

Resisting the urge to gape at him, Ajsa returned the cloth to the basin and stood awkwardly against the bedpost. In the many months that she'd been working for him, she could not recall a time when he had thanked anyone, let alone the foreign slave.

"You are surely laughing at me." His tone was bitter, his words tinged with only the slightest slur to betray his drunkenness.

"Why would I do that?" she inquired.

"Why? Because I dribbled wine all down my front." A humorless laugh escaped him, and he hung his head. "How satisfying it must be for you to see me so effaced, to see your cruel master wallowing in wine and self-pity."

Whatever anger she had felt towards him for leaving her in Nottingham faded. Walking towards him, she knelt in front of him again.

"It is not very satisfying," she said softly.

He scoffed and fixed her with look of scornful disbelief.

"Oh come now, Ajsa. You cannot tell me you're not pleased to see me stripped of my dignity."

"But I can," she replied gently, "Because it is the truth. I do not find pleasure in another's pain." Her voice turned acerbic for an instant, as resentment swelled in her chest. "Not even in _your_ pain."

That mirthless laugh again.

"Ajsa, Ajsa, Ajsa," he chanted, shaking his head and smiling. "You are a Hungarian saint. I treat you abominably and abandon you at the castle, yet here you are, cleaning up my mess and showing me kindness."

Her eyes narrowed. The words were flattering; the inflection, less so.

"Mock me if you will," she retorted. "You can say nothing that will injure me."

"No?" he questioned, arching a curious brow. "And what if I remind you of how far from home you are? Or of how different the stars look above England than above Hungary? Or of how I dragged you back to a life of servitude right when you were about to escape it?"

Ajsa stood. "You are drunk," she said brusquely. Gripping his arm, she yanked it hard enough to pull him to his feet. "I suggest you sleep it off before the Sheriff requests your presence again."

To her surprise, Gisborne allowed himself to be led towards the bed, but instead of lying on it, he sat upon it, bringing Ajsa down with him.

"I cannot sleep," he said raggedly.

She tried to scoot away from him, but his arm around her waist kept her by his side.

"I can mix you a sleeping draught."

"No. No sleeping draughts," he spat. "I don't deserve peace. I deserve to be haunted by demonic visions."

Ajsa's demeanor softened, and she placed a hand on his thigh.

"What has happened to you?" she asked, echoing her question to him on the docks.

"Nothing," he whispered. "It is that_ I_ have happened to others."

Guy laid down, then, curling in on himself, as though trying to make himself as small and as insignificant as possible. Ajsa remained seated on the bed, unsure of what to do next. Her answer came soon enough, though, when Gisborne caught her gaze over his shoulder.

"Lie with me."

It was not a command. It was a plea.

For the first time since meeting him in the slave market, Ajsa's heart went out to Guy. Gone were his usual pride and the impatience with which he normally regarded her. They were replaced by a timid hopefulness that reminded Ajsa of a lost, little boy.

"Of course, my lord," she said and settled behind him.

"Don't call me that," he requested. "Just call me Guy."

"Very well...Guy."

The name sounded foreign and almost illicit on her tongue, but she repeated it again, because it seemed to calm him. They laid motionless for hours, Gisborne lost in his personal hell and Ajsa listening to his breathing.

She had nearly drifted off, when a quiet, deep voice floated into her sleepy haze.

"Thank you, Ajsa."


End file.
